


take me to church

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Series: build you a cathedral [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Goro lies to himself like a lot, M/M, Post P5 Royal, Royal Spoilers, cognitive doubles, desire and distortion, someone has a Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: “I’m going to give you the one thing you want most in the entire world. The one thing your heart yearns for, even if you don’t realize it.”Goro draws in a sharp breath at the sight of the familiar silhouette in his kitchen, long and lanky with tousled black hair. It’s been more than a year, but he still hasn’t forgotten the way Akira moves.Akira turns and smiles, his messy dark hair falling over his forehead, his eyes a brilliant sunflower yellow.“Ah, but there’s a catch. You’ll always know it isn’t real.”now with gorgeous fan art byBlazhyandreveriesky (Sora)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: build you a cathedral [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857217
Comments: 212
Kudos: 1160





	1. heart's desire

**Author's Note:**

> here be P5 Royal spoilers!

As Goro Akechi walks from the train station to his apartment in the growing dusk, a man stumbles into his path. Goro tenses, resting his hand on the butt of the gun in his pocket. It takes him a moment to recognize the ragged soul before him. 

Maruki. His beard is rough and scraggly, his coat patched and stained. He clutches a glass bottle in his hand and weaves through the air like he’s drunk. More than a year has passed since Goro and the Phantom Thieves defeated Maruki’s Palace, and it clearly has not been kind to him. 

“You took  _ everything  _ from me,” he says, slurring his words. “You took paradise from humanity. If it weren’t for  _ you _ , Kurusu would never have stopped me.” 

“It was nothing personal.” Goro gives Maruki a pleasant smile, waiting for him to move out of the way. Around them, a light snow is starting to fall, tiny flakes wafting gently downward. 

“Well, I’m going to have to break with tradition then,” Maruki says. “Because this is very, very personal.” 

He leans forward, gripping Goro by the collar, his breath hot and stinking as he pulls Goro closer. 

“I’m going to give you the one thing you want most in the entire world. The one thing your heart yearns for, even if you don’t realize it.” 

Goro pulls away, smoothing his rumpled collar. “That’s hardly a threat,” he says, but he feels shaken, somehow, by the venom in Maruki’s voice. 

“Ah, but there’s a catch.” Maruki’s smile is a bitter parody of what it once was. “You’ll always know it isn’t real.” 

With that, he brushes by Goro and continues on his way towards the station. 

_ How strange.  _

Goro hesitates for a long moment, analyzing the situation from every angle he can think of, before realizing he has no clue at all to its significance. Finally, he heads home. 

The light is on in his apartment, and as soon as he opens the door he smells curry—the sweet-spicy tang that seems directly connected to his heart. Gun in hand, he creeps through the entryway to the kitchen, where a tall figure dressed in black is moving about, humming the tune to a pop song as he stirs something on the stove. 

Goro’s breath catches at the sight of the familiar silhouette, long and lanky with tousled black hair. 

_ It can’t be. There’s no way he could have found me. He doesn’t even know I’m alive.  _

Akira turns and smiles at Goro, his messy dark hair falling over his forehead, his eyes a brilliant sunflower yellow. 

“You’re home early,” the cognition says. 

“Akira,” Goro says, softly, tasting the sound. He understands, now, exactly what Maruki meant. “Akira, are you making me dinner?” 

“Well, it’s mostly for me,” Akira says, winking. “But you can have some if you want.” 

Goro looks down at his clothes, but they are the same unremarkable cut as always, no Metaverse costume on display. 

“How did you get in here?” he asks, approaching the kitchen. 

Akira laughs, setting two plates of curry on the table. “You’re funny, Crow. Come have some dinner.” 

Goro sits with him and eats. The curry tastes real enough, but that doesn’t mean it is. Either he is in the Metaverse, or somehow his cognitive version of Akira has been brought into the real world. 

Either possibility is well within Maruki’s power, even if that power has been greatly diminished. Goro never believed the Metaverse would disappear, only that Maruki’s false reality would. The Metaverse is simply cognition, after all, and there will be an abundance of cognition and desire for as long as humans exist. 

“What did you do today, Akira?” he asks, watching carefully for a reaction. 

Akira shrugs. “This and that.” 

The evasive answer makes sense, of course. Goro’s cognitive version of Akira wouldn’t have much of a life when he’s not around. 

“I’m glad you’re here now,” Akira says, his yellow eyes soft and guileless. “I missed you for a long time.” 

Goro doesn’t know how to answer that. It lances him right through the heart, painfully sweet. 

“You know you’re not real,” Goro says. It comes out like an accusation. “You’re a cognition. The real Akira is probably laughing with his friends at LeBlanc right now.” 

_ Perfectly content without me.  _

Akira studies him with a piercing intensity. “I don’t think I’m just your cognitive version of me. I can’t know for sure, of course. But I do know I’m here because it makes me happy to be here. Is that wrong?” 

“It makes you happy because it’s what I want. You’re just a figment of my imagination,” Goro snaps. He gets up and takes his plate into the kitchen, setting it in the sink with unsteady hands. 

“So what?”

“It’s self-indulgent. Pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic to want to be happy,” Akira promises. 

“I don’t—” 

_ I don’t deserve it.  _

“I don’t want you here.” Goro stares into the stack of dishes in the sink, so he won’t have to turn and look at Akira. “Just go.” 

The silence stretches so long he thinks Akira  _ has  _ left, but he can’t bring himself to look behind, to see the empty room that echoes his empty heart. 

And then—warm hands slip around his waist, a firm body pressed to his back. Akira’s head nestles against his shoulder, holding him in the kind of embrace he’s never had before. 

“Let me stay,” Akira murmurs. “Just for tonight.” 

For a cognitive being, he feels so  _ real _ , so alive. Flesh and blood and a heart that beats. 

Goro opens his mouth, but he can’t force the words out. He can’t bring himself to break this beautiful illusion. 

He is so much  _ weaker  _ than all the rest of them, all the Phantom Thieves for whom he had so much contempt. 

But Akira’s arms are tight around him, Akira’s lips on his neck, Akira’s musical voice playing softly in his ear. 

He can’t say no to this. 

Not in a million different realities would there exist a world in which he could say no to this. 

And really, what harm can it do to have this little slice of desire? No one will ever know. The fight for the shape of reality is ended; this is merely a lingering effect of concentrated cognition. If Goro is helpless before Akira’s sunshine gaze, that is his business, and no one else’s.

“Stay,” he says, his voice rough with emotion he struggles to contain. “Stay with me, Akira.” 

“Always,” Akira whispers. 


	2. A cognitive construct

The receptionist raises her eyebrows in surprise when Goro leaves the office an hour before closing. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you leave before seven, let alone early,” she says, as he walks by. “Got a date?”

“Something like that,” he answers. 

She smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. She seems to be genuinely fond of him, though Goro has no idea why. 

“You have fun, then.”

He nods at her, wondering what she would think if she knew he’s eager to get home and see if his cognitive version of Akira is still waiting in his apartment. He feels an odd mix of hope and dread—hoping that Akira will still be there, dreading the inevitability of falling in love with a construct of his own mind. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Goro says, as soon as the front door closes behind him. He can’t help it. He’ll never forget the day Akira said that to him, as he was sitting at the counter at LeBlanc. 

He holds his breath, standing in the entryway. There’s a long silence, and he wonders if Akira is gone, if the night before was nothing but a fever dream meant to remind him just how empty his life really is. 

And then Akira is there, stepping into the hallway with a warm smile. 

“Hey, Akechi. How was work?” 

Before Goro can react, Akira has closed the distance between them and is loosening Goro’s tie, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

“What did you do today?” Goro asks, trying desperately to hold onto some sense of reality. The question is a test, meant to measure how much free will Goro’s cognition has. 

The answer is likely  _ none.  _

“I went to Mementos.” Akira says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Fought some shadows, found some loot.”

Goro wonders if that’s true, or just an answer his cognition made up because it’s something he thinks Joker would do. 

“How about you? Did you work at the precinct today?” 

Goro gives Akira a puzzled glance. “I’m not a detective anymore.”

“Oh.” Akira frowns briefly, then his expression smooths out. “I knew that. I’m sure I knew that.” 

Something is off—it tugs at the edges of Goro’s mind. His intuition is giving him a clue, the way it used to when he was a detective, solving cases that weren’t his just for the hell of it. 

The cases assigned to him by Shido’s corrupt officers were always crimes he had caused, and solving them was tedious at best, gathering evidence towards a foregone conclusion. But sometimes Sae would give him the chance—or he would seize the opportunity—to work on other cases. He had enjoyed the challenge immensely, and been very successful. 

Now he works as a private investigator, which requires many of the same skills, but involves much less red tape. The cases, however, are frequently tedious—chasing down cheating spouses or people who’ve failed to pay a debt. 

“Akira,” he says carefully, his analytical mind turning and turning. “Will you play a game of chess with me?” 

Chess will give him the chance to talk to Akira, to gently probe with questions, and examine the cognition’s thought processes.

“Sure,” Akira says. 

It turns out Goro’s cognitive version of Akira is not any better at chess than the real version. It’s nothing like playing against himself. 

He does his best to tease out answers, but cognitive Akira is cagey and clever, and even after the game has progressed nearly to checkmate, Goro doesn’t have any better understanding of the situation.

“Let’s finish this later,” Akira says, getting up. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”

He walks around the chessboard, which is set up on the coffee table, so he can climb onto the couch and straddle Goro. 

Goro presses his hands to the sofa cushions and swallows hard as Akira gives him the same predatory look he used to give Shadows in the Metaverse. 

“Last night you wouldn’t let me kiss you,” Akira says. “Why not?”

“You’re a cognition,” Goro says. “I’m not going to fuck someone I made up.” 

“Rude.” Akira makes a face. “I’m not a cognition.” 

“I’m certain that you are.” 

“Fine.” Akira looks annoyed. “If you’re so sure, then...think about it this way. If I’m just your cognition, there’s no reason to lie to me. No reason to hide.”

It’s true, Goro realizes. He could do anything to this version of Akira, tell him any secrets, share every part of himself. Just like in that interrogation room in Sae’s Palace, his actions will have no consequences. 

_ But in the interrogation room, it was— _

Goro kisses Akira to stop the spiraling thoughts. It’s pathetic, he tells himself, to desire what is essentially a figment of his own imagination, his cognitive construct of Akira. But when Akira presses back against him, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss, it feels so  _ real. _

And there’s a certain freedom in it. No one will ever know—it’s as private as Goro’s own thoughts. It’s safe to be vulnerable with this version of Akira in a way he never could with the real thing. 

“Do you know when I first wanted to kiss you?” Akira asks, hot breath against his ear. Goro shivers in Akira’s embrace. 

“When?” 

“After we fought our duel. We stood at the entrance to Mementos and you told me you hated me.”

Akira’s lips move to Goro’s throat, his hands tangled in Goro’s hair. Goro whimpers at the touch of Akira’s tongue, his hips pressing forward to grind against Akira. 

“And you liked that,” Goro says, panting. 

“I liked how passionate you were. How vicious. It made me want to get under your skin again and again, until you could only be your real self with me.” 

Goro closes his eyes, his body aflame at every point where it meets Akira’s. It’s almost too much, the feel of Akira’s hot breath against his neck, Akira’s honeyed voice in his ear. 

“My real self…” he murmurs. “That’s what you want?” 

“Yeah.” Akira’s yellow-eyed gaze is guileless, starkly sincere. “I like you that way.” 

It seems impossible. After a decade perfecting and polishing his Detective Prince disguise so that he would no longer be the discarded child he once was, it’s overwhelming to hear that what Akira really wants is the darkness beneath. 

“You are wanted,” Akira murmurs. “You are loved. I would build a cathedral for you.”

_ A cathedral?  _ It seems like an odd turn of phrase, but Akira’s hungry kiss drives it from Goro’s mind almost immediately. 

“Enough,” Goro says, turning them so he can push Akira down on the couch cushions and lean over him. “Akira…” 

“When did you know you wanted me?” Akira asks, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. “Did you...want me?” 

“Okumura’s Palace,” Goro admits. “My job was to keep an eye on you as you went through it. And it was...the way you move, in the Metaverse. The way you kill Shadows, or negotiate with them. I used to imagine pulling you into a dark corner of that spaceport and…” 

He turns away, blushing. A stupid fantasy, and not one that ever had any chance of coming true. 

“Remember,” Akira says, with a wicked grin. “I’m your cognition. No reason to hide from me. Tell me the rest.” 

Goro swallows, looks down at Akira beneath him. “You’d get on your knees and beg me to let you suck me off.” 

“That’s so you,” Akira laughs. “I could have guessed.” 

Goro looks away, his face hot and—he’s sure—a bright shade of red. 

“Come to Mementos with me next time,” Akira says, wrapping one slender leg around Goro’s waist and grinding their hips together. “I could make it happen.” 

“Oh,” Goro murmurs, arousal and wonder sparking through him. He never thought he could have this, never. 

“But tonight I want something else,” Akira murmurs, brushing his thumb over Goro’s lower lip. “Tonight I want to show you just how much I love you.” 

Bright pleasure sparks through Goro’s body and he growls, rutting their hips together. 

“If you don’t stop fucking  _ saying that _ , it’s going to be over pretty quick,” he mutters, slipping two of his fingers into Akira’s mouth to stop that ridiculous smirk threatening to take over his face. 

Akira, lithe, agile, and talented with his tongue, still manages to make Goro come in his pants, but makes up for it later. 

Around three in the morning, Goro extricates himself from their tangle of limbs and walks into the bathroom. He studies himself in the mirror—his hair wildly mussed by Akira’s skillful fingers, a red mark on his neck from Akira’s lips and teeth.

_ What is happening to me?  _

He brushes his fingertips over the mark, proof that the cognitive being lying in his bed has enough physical substance to impact the world around him. 

And yet his phone still has a signal. They’re not in the Metaverse. 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

His mind turns and turns, collecting clues and laying them out, deeply focused until Akira walks into the bathroom, wearing only a loose pair of Goro’s pajama pants and scattering any useful conclusions like a dropped deck of cards. His yellow eyes are warm as sunshine, even in the cold, analytical cut of the mirror. 

“You think too much,” he says, wrapping his arms loosely around Goro’s waist from behind and resting his chin gently on Goro’s shoulder. 

“You wouldn’t complain so much if you knew I was always thinking about you.” Goro’s not sure where that sentiment comes from, only that it’s easy to be honest with Akira, because he knows his feelings will go no further than his own mind. 

“Why think about me when you could do me instead?” Akira winks at him in the mirror, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. 

“Okay, now I’m sure you can’t possibly be my cognitive version of Akira,” Goro says, turning to face him. “Because  _ I  _ would never have come up with that joke.” 


	3. Detective work

In the time before Maruki twisted reality into something barely recognizable, Goro had a fantasy about Akira, which he would only let himself imagine on the most difficult days, when his will to defeat Shido was faltering, when the task before him seemed overwhelming and hopeless.

In his fantasy, someone was harming Akira. An abusive teacher at school, an undiscovered cruel streak in Sojiro—the details didn’t really matter. Only that Akira was being hurt, and that he was utterly alone and helpless to stop it. 

And then Goro would save the day. The particulars of that weren’t important either. What mattered most was that Akira would put his arms around Goro and pull him close, and whisper against his neck, “Thank you for saving me, Goro. You’re the only one who cares about me. You’re the only person I need.” 

Picturing this imaginary scenario never failed to make Goro feel both better and worse—warm at the thought of Akira’s embrace but suffused with a painful longing for something he could never have.

He has spent the past few weeks alternating between euphoria and despair, reckless love and bitter regret. Maruki could not have crafted a better trap for Goro’s heart. 

He wakes up every morning with Akira in his arms, curled around Akira’s warm body like a shell, holding him close. And while this isn’t exactly like his daydream, it is true that he has Akira’s sole attention. No more sharing Akira’s time and affection with the Phantom Thieves—this cognitive version belongs only to Goro. 

Like this, Akira will never hurt him. Like this, Akira will never leave. 

“This is what I was afraid you’d do to me,” he murmurs against the warm curve of Akira’s neck. “That you’d keep me like a pet, to satisfy your own desire to be a savior. And now here I am, holding on to you, with desires that are much more depraved.”

Akira laughs, rolling over to face Goro. “You’re ridiculous. I’m happy with you. You’re not making me do anything.” 

Goro turns his face away from Akira’s soft kiss, affection he doesn’t deserve, love he hasn’t earned, and emotions that the real Akira would never, ever feel. 

“If you believed I was real, what would you say to me?” Akira asks. 

That’s easy to answer. “Nothing. I would never say anything to you.” 

Goro knows that Akira’s life is better without him, and all this time, the silence and distance he’s put between them, are his way of protecting Akira from a man whose heart has rotted away, leaving something jagged and sharp waiting in its place. 

“You’re cruel,” Akira says, leaning in for another kiss. This time, Goro lets him. “But I love you anyway.” 

Goro never knows how to answer that—anything he could offer in return would be insufficient. But he loves hearing it, craves the sound of it, the proof that he matters to someone. Not just someone, but the most important person in his world. This version of Akira may just be his cognition, but sometimes Goro feels like he’s the one who’s chained. 

“I’ll make us some coffee,” Akira says, getting out of bed. He sighs. “I wish I had some of the blends I made at LeBlanc. They’re probably still upstairs in the attic where I hid them from Sojiro so he wouldn’t judge them.” 

“Hmm.” Goro props himself up on his elbow and watches Akira get dressed. “I’ll be going by Yongen-Jaya later today. I could grab them.” 

Akira frowns for a moment, puzzled. “I don’t have the key.” 

“Don’t worry.” Goro gets up and goes to him, eager to distract him from any disruptions in the illusion. “If no one is there, I can get in just fine. You’re not the only one who was a criminal.” 

Akira laughs. “I always had a thing for bad boys, you know.” 

Goro leans in, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me more.” 

Akira does. 

Goro skulks through the familiar back alleys near LeBlanc with practiced expertise. Being a hitman is not so different than being a thief, just with the added complication of violence at the end. 

He hasn’t committed a crime in a long while, but Akira wants his coffee, and Goro isn’t about to let him down. 

A soft, warm light emanates from LeBlanc’s windows, though it’s well after closing time. Goro sneaks closer. Familiar voices come from inside—Phantom Thieves who, as usual, never think to modulate the volume of their conversations. 

“He has a _what_?” Ann squeals. 

“Shh.” Morgana’s high pitched voice, full of alarm. “I already checked the Nav. I’m getting good at using his phone.” 

_The Nav is back?_

“You gotta be kidding.” Ryuji sounds shocked. “There’s no way…” 

“I don’t understand.” Ann sounds distraught. “Why? What does it mean?” 

“How should I know?” Morgana snaps.

Goro peers in through the window, careful to remain unseen. 

“You’re the one living with him.” Ryuji is standing in the aisle, all familiar bad posture and dramatic gesturing. “You’re supposed to be taking care of him.” 

Morgana leaps onto the table. “You’re the ones who left him!”

“Guys.” Ann’s voice is soft, but it cuts through the argument like a knife. “Please. Don’t do this. We need to help him.” 

“Okay,” Ryuji says. He sounds like he’s steeling himself for the worst. “Okay. Let’s go. Morgana, can you take us there?” 

“I don’t know the keywords,” Morgana says, sounding dejected. “His name is a hit, and LeBlanc. But that’s all I have.” 

Goro presses his back against the wall and takes out his phone, only half listening to the ridiculous suggestions the three Thieves are throwing around. His heart is hammering in his chest, his fingers trembling on the screen of his phone. 

_It can’t be. It doesn’t make any sense._

The Nav is there, the same red and black square on his homepage. He activates it, watching with trepidation as it fills the screen. 

“Akira Kurusu,” he says. “LeBlanc.” 

The phone chimes softly. It’s a hit. But he needs the final keyword—what is Akira’s distortion? 

_“You are wanted. You are loved. I’d build a cathedral to you.”_

It can’t be. 

“Cathedral,” Goro whispers. The Nav chirps and draws them in.


	4. Cathedral of Guilt

Yongen-Jaya is gone, replaced by a huge field that stretches as far as Goro can see. The only break in the plain of waving golden grass is the enormous cathedral of bleak gray stone, the roof rising in sharp, jagged angles that look decidedly unholy. 

He approaches carefully, the wind whisking past his ears and ruffling his hair, the long grass brushing his shins. He’s still wearing street clothes, so he can only assume Akira, always the Fool, doesn’t see him as a threat. 

He slips into the cathedral and ducks behind one of the pews before the three Thieves standing in the center of the grand open space can see him, all dressed in their Metaverse outfits. 

They’re bickering like idiots, but really, what did he expect? 

“I didn’t activate the Nav! I was standing right next to you,” Skull says. 

“Well I didn’t activate it either,” Panther replies. 

“One of you must have,” Mona says. “Or maybe we got lucky and the Nav misheard us. It was right when Ryuji said “cat house. Which is a stupid suggestion, by the way.

“What was that?” Skull growls. 

“Cat house. Cathedral. I guess that could be it,” Panther admits. 

Goro rolls his eyes. Those three are the same as ever. 

“I just don’t get it,” Skull says, scuffing his toe on the marble floor. “How could Akira have a Palace?” 

“Right?” Panther adds, nodding emphatically. “He’s the best person I know.” 

“Maybe you don’t know him,” Mona says, turning away from the other two, head bowed. “All of you left him. You don’t know how unhappy he’s been, ever since...” 

_ Ever since what? _

“Ah, shit.” Skull sighs. “You’re right. We ain’t been takin’ care of him. We shoulda been there for him, and for you. I’m sorry, Mona.”

“Yeah,” Panther murmurs. “Me too. And I’m sure the others will feel the same.” 

Goro knows, of course, that all of the Phantom Thieves have gone their own way, Ryuji to pick up where his dreams of being a track star left off, Ann to push her career forward, and so on. He knows that Akira is the only one left, still pouring coffee behind the counter at LeBlanc and spending his weekends fishing with his old homeroom teacher. 

As a private investigator, Goro has the skills and resources to keep an eye on Akira, and does so obsessively, if always from a concealed distance. 

Another reason for him to feel shame, to hide himself from the three Thieves up ahead. 

“This place really is somethin,” Skull says, craning his neck to peer up at the giant stained glass windows that line the upper half of the walls. “Hey! That’s Captain Kidd!” 

“Wow,” Panther squeaks, looking around. “And Carmen! And Hecate!” 

The stained glass windows are each easily taller than Goro, wide enough he could walk through them with room to spare. With panes of jagged glass, they depict all the different personas of all of Akira’s friends, casting a brilliantly colored mosaic of light onto the marble floor. 

Goro’s Personas are the only ones missing, but that makes sense. He was never really one of them, after all. Akira never even thought of him as a teammate, let alone anything more. Unlike the cognitive version waiting for Goro at home, the real Akira had better people to attach to, people much more deserving of his love. 

Above the altar, stained glass Arsene casts red and black shadows over an imposing marble font. The three Thieves walk toward it, their footsteps echoing as they make absolutely no attempt to keep quiet. 

Goro creeps closer, but stays out of sight. 

“There’s nowhere else to go,” Panther says, looking around. “What are we supposed to do?” 

“How about that?” Skull points to the confessional. “What’s that for?” 

Goro rolls his eyes while Mona explains what a confession is in the Christian tradition.

“Huh,” Skull mutters. “Weird. Well, maybe one of us has gotta confess something.”

There’s a soft sliding sound, like velvet over a hard surface, and a tall shadow appears, dressed in a black robe with intricate gold accents. His features are severe and harsh, but human. When he reaches one hand out of the voluminous sleeve of his robe, is it curved and taloned like a claw. 

“Bishop Kurusu is gone away,” he says. “The hearing of confessions is his role.” 

“Gone away?” Skull demands, brash as always. “Whaddya mean?” 

“If you wish to know more, you must enter the catacombs,” the Shadow says. His voice doles out the words in a slow, mournful cadence. “However, only the dead may walk there.” 

“Only the dead?” Panther repeats. “So how do we get there?” 

The shadow’s sharp, sinister features split open in a wide grin. His left arm stretches out from his body, bending and enlarging wildly until it takes the shape of a wicked scythe, the blade black and dripping blood where it juts out from his skin. 

“If you wish to go to the catacombs, I can arrange it,” he says, and attacks. 

Goro watches the fight from his vantage point several pews back. It’s clear from the beginning that the Thieves are hopelessly outmatched. They’re rusty, and obviously missing their leader, but also the Shadow they’re fighting is more powerful than any Goro has ever seen. He’s not sure  _ he  _ could take it on, even at the height of his powers. 

He considers coming to their aid, but there’s really no point. It wouldn’t be enough to turn the tide. 

“We need to run,” Mona says, grabbing Panther’s hand. They stumble backwards, Skull not far behind. 

The shadow doesn’t pursue them. Once it’s clear they’re done fighting, the creature returns to the altar and waits patiently. It seems to bear them no ill will. 

“It’s not chasing us,” Panther says, catching her breath in the back of the cathedral. “It’s just standing there.” 

“Weird,” Skull mutters. 

The three of them huddle together, quietly debating their next move. But Goro knows they’re not going to be able to solve this puzzle. None of them are strong enough—none of them trust Akira enough—to understand the answer. 

He steps into the light and walks to the altar. Behind him, he hears the Thieves surprised murmur, but they quickly come to the conclusion that he’s just Akira’s cognition, not a threat. 

He would have assumed the same, because even as the Shadow looks him up and down appraisingly, his clothes don’t change. Akira is welcoming him, just as he always has. 

_ Idiot _ . 

“I want to go to the catacombs,” he says to the Shadow. 

The Shadow smiles. The scythe rises and falls. Goro closes his eyes. 


	5. An act of selfishness

Goro wakes on a floor of hard packed dirt in near total darkness. He does a quick inventory of his body—a little sore but intact, none the worse for “dying” at the Shadow’s scythe. 

He gets to his feet and looks around the cavern, but most of it is shrouded in darkness, a faint, flickering glow emanating from further ahead. He follows it, emerging into a wide chamber lit by torches and lined with statues and coffins set into indentations in the stone walls. 

The low ceiling gives the room a claustrophobic feel, like catacombs buried well below the ground. Goro approaches the closest statue with caution. 

It’s solid white marble, streaked with grime and neglect, but on closer inspection it’s recognizable as Ryuji, caught mid-sprint with eerie accuracy, a baton in his hand. The lines of the statue are so accurate and lifelike it feels like it might spring into motion at any moment. 

The coffin beneath it is made of the same marble, an inscription running along its side. Goro leans in and runs his hand over the words, wiping away the dust and dirt so he can read them. 

_ Here lies Sakamato Ryuji’s bright future, murdered by the Bishop Kurusu in an act of selfishness.  _

The letters are lined in gold, glimmering in the torchlight. Goro stares at them, taken aback by their stark, accusing tone. 

_ An act of selfishness?  _

The next one is Ann, posing for a photoshoot, hips cocked, arms crossed, her mouth upturned in a sweet smile. 

_ Here lies Takamaki Ann’s future with Suzui Shiho, murdered by the Bishop Kurusu in an act of selfishness.  _

Goro moves on, studying each statue and golden inscription in turn. 

Yusuke, brush in hand, hunched and intent on a canvas only he can see. 

_ Here lies the loving guardian who could have guided Kitagawa Yusuke to greatness, murdered by the Bishop Kurusu in an act of selfishness.  _

Makoto, standing tall and proud in a police officer’s uniform. 

_ Here lies Nijima Makoto’s dream of an intact family, murdered by the Bishop Kurusu in an act of selfishness.  _

Futaba, her head leaned back in laughter, hand outstretched to grasp another’s. 

_ Here lies the sanctuary and happiness Sakura Futaba found in her mother’s arms, murdered by the Bishop Kurusu in an act of selfishness.  _

Haru, a cup of tea and a saucer held daintily in her hand, her upturned face full of joy. 

_ Here lies Okumura Haru’s untainted relationship with her father, murdered by the Bishop Kurusu in an act of selfishness.  _

Finally, a human figure Goro doesn’t recognize, sapphires set in its eyes, gleaming unnaturally bright in the torchlight. 

_ Here lie Morgana’s hopes and dreams, murdered by the Bishop Kurusu in an act of selfishness.  _

“Ow! Hey, get off me,” Panther squeals from the same room where Goro found himself after “dying” at the Shadow’s hands. 

“Ain’t my fault I fell like this,” Skull replies indignantly. 

“Where are we?” 

Goro slips into the shadows just as the three Thieves make their way into the chamber of statues. He waits and watches as the Thieves make their way through the room in utter, stunned silence, lips moving as they read the inscriptions on each coffin. This break in the psyche of their leader must be deeply upsetting to them. 

Not surprisingly, Skull is the first to speak. He removes his mask and wipes his face, staring at the floor. 

“What the hell does that all mean?” he asks, sounding bewildered. “Selfishness? Akira ain’t been selfish a day in his life.” 

“It means he thinks we would all have been happier if he had taken Maruki’s deal,” Mona says. “And he feels guilty for turning it down.”

“Ah, shit,” Skull murmurs. “We let him down if he thinks that.” 

“We need to keep moving,” Panther says, but she sounds shaken too. “What’s in there?” 

She points to the next room, where flickering light is just barely visible through a narrow entrance. 

Goro trails silently after them. He has nothing to fear from any cognitive creation Akira has dreamed up, but he would rather not speak to the others if he can help it. He doesn’t want to explain why he’s still alive. 

He has to admit it’s oddly hurtful to journey so far into Akira’s subconscious and see no trace of himself anywhere. Another reason the version of Akira in his apartment couldn’t possibly be the real Akira’s Shadow. That Akira loves him. The real one never would. 

The path forward is a narrow, sloping hallway. Goro has to duck through the doorway, and as they walk down and down in a tight spiral, his head nearly brushes the ceiling. Finally, they make it to the bottom, where a heavy stone door awaits them. 

“The treasure is inside there,” Mona whispers. “I know it.” 

Skull pushes it open. The three Thieves walk in, careless even in the face of possible danger. Goro lingers just past the doorway, where the darkness is thickest. 

Inside, hundreds of candles illuminate the room, casting the statue at the center in flickering light and shadow. In the back, lit by torches, are three grand stained glass windows. Goro can barely make out the designs beneath the layer of dust that’s accumulated, and only because they are so familiar: Loki, Robin Hood, and Hereward. 

At the edges of the room are statues of Joker, each depicting the same pose, empty hands turned up, face tilted down. The statues are white, but the hands have been painted vivid red. Streams of water run from beneath each Joker mask down the statues’ faces, dripping into tiny puddles on the stone floor. 

The statue in the center is clearly Goro, wearing his Metaverse outfit, minus the black mask. He has his sword raised and a wicked smile on his face.

At the base of that statue is a white coffin. Above it, the Treasure hovers in a formless haze. 

Skull leans down and wipes away the dirt to read the inscription. “Ah, hell,” he whispers. “I didn’t know.” 

“Akira…” Panther joins him, making a soft noise of surprise as she examines the glimmering golden letters. 

“What does it say?” Mona asks, hopping over to them. 

Panther leans in and reads aloud. “ _ Here lies Akechi Goro, who Bishop Kurusu loved but was too weak and foolish to save.”  _

Goro backs further into darkness, his hands trembling where they’re pressed against the stone wall. 

_...who Bishop Kurusu loved… _

This can’t be right.

This can’t be true. 

The cognitive version of Akira waiting for him in his apartment is a figment of his own imagination, his own twisted creation. 

Akira could never really...

Akira would never…

“Well this is all we can do for today,” Mona says, sounding beyond weary. “Let’s go home and get the calling card ready.” 

Goro slips away while they’re still talking, moving silently through the shadows to the exit. He knows what he has to do. 


	6. A trap for a trickster

When Goro gets home, Maruki is waiting for him at the kitchen table, the lamplight reflecting wildly off of his bulky glasses, hiding his eyes. He looks a lot better than he did a month ago, dressed in clean clothes, his hair slightly less like a rat’s nest. 

“How the hell did you get in here?” Goro growls, though he can guess. Akira probably doesn’t see the doctor as a threat, even now. “Where’s Akira?” 

“Which one?” Maruki asks, then chuckles at his own joke. “His Shadow is sleeping right over there.” 

He gestures to the couch where Akira is sprawled out, eyes closed and face tranquil enough to make Goro uneasy. 

“You need to bring him back to his Palace,” Goro says. “I don’t know how you managed to get him out in the first place.” 

“I could do that.” Maruki speaks slowly, carefully. “Even now, after everything, I have no desire to harm either of you. But I have a proposition for you, Akechi. Will you do me the courtesy of listening?” 

Goro crosses his arms and nods brusquely. Whatever Maruki wants, he’s not getting it, but letting him talk will give Goro time to make a plan. 

“Our battle greatly diminished my powers,” Maruki says. “But you two, you Tricksters—you still possess the will to change the world. If we were to work together—”

“It won’t happen,” Goro promises. 

“Ah, but you haven’t let me finish.” Maruki gives him a patient smile. “I’ve made some revisions to my reality that I think you’ll appreciate. Incorporating a little more free will, a little more random chance. While still keeping things safe and comfortable, of course. I think you’ll find it quite to your liking.” 

“I doubt it.” 

“Well. Let’s play out your reality, then.” Maruki smooths his hands over the table as though setting a scene. “You know that the “real” Akira isn’t going to remember any of this, don’t you?” 

“That’s not the point,” Goro murmurs, looking away. It does bother him, more than he’d ever admit. The most important experiences of his life, and as far as anyone else is concerned, they never happened. 

“Of course. You think that because Akira loves you, it will all work out.” Maruki gives him a genuinely sympathetic look and Goro just barely holds himself back from punching him in the face. 

“I don’t care what Akira thinks.”

“You can’t lie to me,” Maruki says. “I am a  _ very  _ good psychologist. And I brought you back from the dead.” 

_ Insufferable as always. _ Goro clenches his fists and sets his jaw. 

“You’re at the deepest part of Akira’s Palace,” Maruki says. “His distortion is centered on you. What do you think is going to happen when they change his heart?” 

Goro...had not considered that. 

“It’s going to change how he feels about you,” Maruki says. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.” 

It feels like he’s been hit with a powerful frost spell, slamming up against a sheet of jagged ice. Goro casts about for something to say, some biting retort, and finds himself speechless. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Maruki clucks his tongue. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Look at how miserable you are. Look at how miserable  _ Akira  _ is. If the two of you would just lend me your power for a little while, I’d have it all fixed up in no time.” 

Goro glances at the sofa, where Akira is laying still, his messy hair dark against his pale forehead. One of Goro’s T-shirts is draped over the pillow, and Akira nuzzles against it, just slightly, and Goro feels like his heart is breaking. 

_ “This is all I need.” Akira, curled up against Goro’s chest, his fingers gently tracing the curve of Goro’s ear. “I could be happy just like this, forever.”  _

Finally, Goro understands. 

What it was like for Akira, hearing Maruki give his ultimatum. Choose the truth, or trap the person you love in a lie. 

A false world or an empty one. 

A love that isn’t real, or a life without it. 

Akira was strong enough to make the right choice. 

Goro might not be. 

“Just think about it,” Maruki says. “The Phantom Thieves are going to change his heart tomorrow night. I’ll come by before then, and you can let me know what you decide.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate ending, where Goro takes Maruki’s offer, can be found [in this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621474).


	7. Take your heart

Goro lets Akira stay for a little while, wanting this beautiful illusion to last for just a bit longer. But time moves quickly, and he knows what he has to do, even if the thought of it is like cutting off his own left hand. 

He’s not going to live a lie. Not for Akira, not for himself. Maruki should know that by now. 

“Akira.” The fool has just started chopping vegetables for a batch of curry, and Goro comes up behind him and puts his hands over Akira’s, holding him still. “Akira, it’s time for you to leave.” 

“What do you mean?” Akira asks, leaning into Goro’s embrace like he’s determined to make this harder than it has to be. 

“I mean you have to go back to where you came from.” 

Akira turns to him, hurt written across his face. “You want me to go?” 

“I’m sorry,” Goro murmurs. He kisses Akira gently, aching with the knowledge that this is goodbye. That not only will Akira’s memories of this time disappear, but also his love for Goro. 

“I don’t want to leave.” Akira has that familiar stubborn glint in his eye, and Goro knows he’s going to have to push, hard, if he wants Akira to listen. “I want to stay with you.” 

“You can’t.” Goro looks away. “You can’t stay here.” 

“But you love me,” Akira says, raising his hand to touch Goro’s cheek. “I make you happy.”

“I don’t love you.” 

Akira blinks, yellow eyes wide with shock. Goro levels an indifferent gaze at him, careless and cruel, even though it makes him feel like he’s holding a gun to Akira’s forehead all over again. 

“Have I ever said that to you? Have I ever told you I love you? Of course not. You should have realized that by now.” 

Heartbreak makes Goro’s voice harsh and commanding, and Akira steps back like he’s been hit. 

“Get the hell out of here,” Goro snaps. “Go back to where you came from. I don’t want to see you again.” 

Akira draws in a shaky breath. “If that’s what you want…” 

He starts to shimmer and fade like the incorporeal being that he is, reaching a hand out to Goro just before he flickers out of sight entirely. 

Goro slumps against the counter and shuts his eyes. 

_ It’s for the best.  _

Akira told him about changing Futaba’s heart, how it helped heal her sorrow and let her move forward. He can only hope the same will happen for Akira. 

He’s no good for Akira anyway—not with his sharp edges and his rotten heart. Maybe the Detective Prince he once pretended to be would be worthy of a place in Akira’s life, but his true self is not. 

_ I don’t need him. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life chained to him. He doesn’t matter to me at all.  _

Even so, he feels hollowed out with loneliness and longing. 

He’s not sure how much later it is when a knock sounds on the door. He goes to answer it. 

Maruki stands just outside the threshold, his usual disheveled, hapless self. He’s wearing a white lab coat and sandals, looking deceptively harmless. 

Goro grabs him by the collar and hauls him into the apartment, slamming the door shut and shoving Maruki up against it. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he says. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?” 

Maruki smiles. “The man in the black mask, right? I was a little surprised you didn’t kill my Shadow.” 

Goro scowls. “Obviously I should have.” 

“But you couldn’t bring yourself to let Akira down.” Maruki gives him a genuinely sympathetic look. “I take this to mean you’ve made your decision?” 

Goro grabs Maruki by the collar, pulling the fabric tight around Maruki’s throat. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“Okay, okay,” Maruki wheezes. “You’ve made your point. Just—just hear me out!” 

Goro releases him, and he slumps forward, rubbing his neck. 

“Violence isn’t really my thing,” Maruki says petulantly. “Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Goro gives him a skeptical glare, and he relents. 

“I mean, at first I did want to get revenge. I’ll own up to that. But then I realized I can’t give up on my dream just because I’ve failed a few times.” 

“Do you really want to keep giving me reasons to kill you?” Goro snarls. 

Maruki holds up his hands, looking alarmed. “There’s no need for that. What I mean is, it’s not too late to stop them from changing Akira’s heart. Since you won’t take my deal, you may as well give that a shot.” 

Goro regards Maruki suspiciously. His heart leaps hopefully in his chest, but he ignores the burst of irrational emotion. 

“What do you get out of this?” 

“What I’ve always wanted,” Maruki says simply. “For people to be happy. Now, you’d better get going to Yongen if you want to stop the Phantom Thieves.” 

“I’m still going to kill you,” Goro says, but he’s grabbing his coat and pulling on his shoes. “Someday soon. Be ready.” 

He dashes out the door, Maruki’s gentle laughter trailing behind him. 

“Good luck!” 


	8. Fools rush in

Goro runs through the dark catacombs, the frantic rhythm of his footsteps sounding on the stone floor. He bursts into the crypt where the Phantom Thieves have gathered, all six of them now, crowded into the cramped space between statues. The gaudy colors of their costumes are out of place and jarring among the somber setting.

“The treasure is in that huge coffin,” Mona is saying. “We just need to get it open and—”

“Wait,” Goro calls out. “Please.” 

As one all the Thieves turn to him. 

“Akechi?” Noir blinks at him from behind her lovely mask. 

“It’s probably Akira’s cognitive version of Akechi,” Oracle says. “And he’s gonna try to stop us from taking the Treasure. Get ready for a fight.” 

“I’m not a cognition,” Goro says, stepping forward. Now more than ever, he wishes his Metaverse outfit would appear, but apparently Akira still doesn’t see him as a threat. Nor can he find it in his heart to rebel against Akira’s rule. 

“That’s exactly what a cognition would say.” Skull hefts the lead pipe he seems to be using as a weapon. 

“Don’t come any closer,” Mona readies his slingshot, his careful gaze locked onto Goro’s face. 

“Look in the tomb,” Goro says. He hopes that his deduction will prove correct, that his cognitive version will be hidden there. 

The Thieves pause, glancing at each other. Then Fox steps forward and heaves the heavy marble lid aside. 

Cognitive Goro is lying in the wide coffin, eyes closed and still as death. Akira’s Shadow is lying beside him. His eyes are closed too, his arms crossed over his chest, but he’s clearly breathing, skin still flushed with life. A contrast to the deathly pallor settled over cognitive Goro’s face. 

“Treasure,” Mona breathes reverently. “Akechi’s the Treasure.” 

“Well, to each their own,” Fox says charitably, framing the image of Akira and Goro with his fingers, his mind likely racing to picture the painting he could make. 

“Right.” Skull clears his throat and leans down, lifting cognitive Goro’s limp body in his arms. “Let’s get outta here, yeah? We just gotta take this with us.” 

“Wait,” Goro says, stepping into Skull’s path. The other Thieves cluster around Skull protectively, their attention on Goro. “Listen. You don’t have to change his heart.” 

They watch him warily, and not a single one of them notices Akira rising from the coffin like a vampire, blue flame dancing along his body as his school uniform is replaced with Joker’s flashy attire. 

“You didn’t change Sae’s heart,” Goro says. “She was strong willed enough to change it on her own. Akira is too.” 

The Thieves glance doubtfully at each other. 

“You ain’t seen Akira lately,” Skull says. “It’s like he’s in a trance. You can’t talk to him, and he won’t even look at us.”

“He’s just going through the motions,” Panther adds. “He’s barely even alive.” 

“We’re doing this because we love him,” Noir says, turning a sharp edged gaze on Goro. “Why are you here?” 

_ Because I love him too.  _ The words stick in Goro’s throat, even now when they are most important.

“How dare you touch my Treasure?” Joker strides forward, the same commanding presence he always is, but magnified because they are all in a Palace made of his cognition. “How dare you come here and look through my grief like it’s some kind of museum?  _ You are not welcome here. _ ”

They’ve spent the last month intimately intertwined, but something about seeing Akira in his full Metaverse outfit, mask hiding his expressive eyes, still takes Goro’s breath away. 

“Joker,” Goro says, softly. “Akira. I’m here.”

Joker turns to him, and the surprised murmurs of the Thieves fades away to a distant background. 

“I’ll fight them for you,” Goro says. “I won’t let them take away your free will.” 

Joker studies him, yellow eyes intent behind the angular mask. “Why?” 

“Because you’re the only person in the world worth saving.” Goro means it, every word, and he hopes Akira believes it. 

“If they team up, we’re not gonna win,” Oracle whispers to the rest of the Thieves. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” 

“You don’t need to steal my heart,” Joker says. “I can leave anytime I want. Goro, if you’re out there, then I don’t need to be here anymore.” 

As he speaks, the ground beneath them trembles, fissures appearing in the stone floor. Goro glances behind him, but the Thieves are already gone, footsteps thundering down the corridor outside. 

“I built this Palace for you,” Joker says, stepping closer. He presses his hand to Goro’s cheek and smiles, standing perfectly still as the cathedral shakes and shudders around them. “I don’t regret a moment of it.” 

He waves his hand, and the room shimmers from the edges inward. Reality ripples and distorts like the surface of a pond, and then Goro and the rest of the Thieves tumble onto the floor of LeBlanc in a tangle of limbs and pointy elbows. 

Goro extricates himself quickly and hurries upstairs as Sojiro begins asking pointed questions of the rest of them. 

Akira is sleeping on the futon, curled on his side. He’s clutching something in his hand, a scrap of black fabric. 

Goro sits on the edge of the futon and reaches for Akira, but pulls his hand back before it can make contact, reminding himself that this is the  _ real  _ Akira, not the Shadow he spent weeks falling in love with. 

“He probably won’t wake up for a while.” Morgana, standing in the stairwell, watches him warily. “That’s what happened to the others when we changed their hearts. It took them a while to come back.” 

“I see,” Goro says, getting slowly to his feet. If they’ve succeeded in changing Akira’s heart, then there’s no reason for him to stay. It will be easier for everyone if he’s gone. 


	9. True ending

Goro goes through the motions. His days are like cardboard, flat and unremarkable, blurring together to make up a tidy, empty life. 

He doesn’t know how he endured the loneliness before Akira fell into his life. But now the distortion he caused in Akira’s heart is cured, and with it, Akira’s love for him. 

There’s not even the slightest trace that Akira was ever in his apartment, no forgotten socks or toothbrush on the counter. All of it disappeared when Akira’s Shadow returned to his Palace. 

Tonight, Goro plays chess against himself, a bottle of whiskey and a single glass beside him. He’s just getting started, but is usually drunk before the evenings are over, if only because he can’t get to sleep any other way. Not with the memory of Akira lingering in his bed like a beautiful ghost. 

Someone is knocking on doors in the hallway outside. The walls are thin enough that he can hear the polite rapping on each door, and then murmured conversation. Probably someone selling vacuum cleaners, he thinks. 

He has no intention of answering it, but when the tapping finally sounds on his own door, something tugs at him like a thread of fate. 

He gets up reluctantly and unlocks the door, pulling it open. 

“Akechi,” Akira whispers. He’s pale, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes, and he stares at Goro with an unnerving intensity. 

Goro steps aside to let him in. Akira’s wide eyes take in the small space; he runs his hands over the countertops in the kitchen, stares at the chessboard by the couch. 

“I’ve...been here before,” he murmurs. “It was like a dream, but I was here.” 

Goro hesitates. He’s not sure what to say.  _ I held your Shadow hostage for a month _ doesn’t seem like a good conversation starter.  _ I fucked you on every single surface in here and the floor  _ is probably even worse. 

“And you’re  _ alive _ .” Akira’s voice breaks on the last word. “Morgana told me, but I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe you’d just leave me like that. Still...something kept drawing me back to this place, to this building. I kept coming, over and over again, knocking on doors. I didn’t know why, but…” 

Akira wraps his arms around himself, turning to Goro. 

“What happened to me?” 

Goro remembers holding Akira in the late night, long after they should have been asleep. Murmuring  _ I love you _ against Akira’s skin. The stories he told Akira—his childhood, memories of his mother—are nothing he could share with anyone who existed outside his head. 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Goro says sharply. 

“You do know.” Akira turns that uncannily perceptive gaze on him. “Don’t lie to me.” 

“What do you re—” Goro catches himself just in time. “What did you dream about being here?” 

Akira huffs a soft sigh, running his hand through his hair. “It was all kind of vague and fuzzy, but now that I’m here it’s starting to come back. Isn’t that weird? I remember making you curry in this kitchen. Playing chess right over there. And...other things, too.” 

His cheeks are tinged slightly pink, but it quickly fades as he turns his soft gray eyes on Goro. 

“Please tell me what happened,” he says. “I need to know. It’s driving me insane.” 

Goro sighs. “Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.” 

Akira obediently sits on the couch, and Goro pours a second glass of whiskey. Sitting across from Akira, the chessboard between them, Goro sips his own drink and tries to think of how to begin. 

“Did your friends tell you that you had a Palace?” Goro asks. 

A slight, bitter smile crosses Akira’s lips. “I’m well aware I had a Palace.” 

“Maruki found you there,” Goro says. “And somehow, he brought your Shadow here.” 

Akira blinks. “That shouldn’t be possible.” 

“It’s likely the same ability that let him bring me back,” Goro says. “Anyway, that’s all it is. Somehow you’ve retained some of your Shadow’s memories of this place.” 

“You’re so cold,” Akira murmurs. “When I was here before...you weren’t like this.”

“Yes, well. Things are different now.” Goro gets up. It hurts too much to have Akira here, so close and yet with an impossible divide between them. “You should go..” 

Akira stands and follows Goro to the door. “Do you know what my Treasure was?”

Goro raises an eyebrow, waiting in the entryway. 

Akira pulls a black glove out of his pocket. Goro’s glove, the one he threw at Akira in a fit of pique after losing a duel. 

“Makes sense,” Goro says, snatching the glove back. The hurt and anger in his heart overflows, and he speaks before he can stop himself. “Your distortion started the moment you began to have feelings for me. It must be a relief to have them gone.” 

Akira’s eyes widen. “Is that what you think?” 

“You need to leave,” Goro says.  _ Before you break me. _

“We were standing right here,” Akira murmurs, his eyes distant and soft. “I was saying goodbye before you left for work. You were already wearing your coat, you had your briefcase in your hand. You dropped it on the floor so you could pick me up and hold me against the wall and kiss me breathless.” 

Akira puts a hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s in pain. 

“I don’t know what’s real,” he says. “Goro...please.” 

Goro steps closer, drawn to Akira as he’s always been. “That was real. All of it was real, Akira. But that was...before they changed your heart. Now, I imagine you feel very differently.”

“They didn’t change my heart,” Akira says. 

“But they took your Treasure.” Goro studies him, trying to keep the tide of hope in his chest from rising too high. “Didn’t they?” 

“It’s kind of a long story.” Akira sighs, leaning back against the wall beside the coat rack. “When the Nav came back on my phone, I started going into the Metaverse. It was an escape, because I was so unhappy in reality. Somehow being there, even where there was almost no distortion, made me feel better.” 

Goro had no idea Akira was ever unhappy. He thought Akira had everything a person could ever want. 

“You were—you were  _ dead, _ ” Akira says, his voice breaking. “And everyone else just moved on, but I couldn’t. I wanted you to have some kind of memorial. Something. So one day I took your glove into the Metaverse with me. And I...started to build that cathedral.”

“Incredible,” Goro murmurs. He never thought the Metaverse could be used so deliberately, so consciously. But if anyone could do it, it would be Akira. 

“Eventually I learned how to make a Shadow self, so that I could be there all the time.” Akira laughs ruefully. “I should have known the other Thieves would figure me out and try to steal my heart. But I would never let them take you from me.” 

Goro studies Akira’s face. None of this makes any sense at all, and he wonders if he’s dreaming. 

“I have hurt you worse than anyone else in the world,” he says. “How can you still…?”

“That’s how love works,” Akira answers, with a nonchalant shrug, like this isn’t an earth-shattering revelation.

Goro has no idea how to answer that. It hits him like a wave of warmth, washing over his whole body. But it’s also deeply frightening, because he doesn’t know if he has the capacity to reciprocate. 

“Imagine I’m a cognition.” Akira gives him a slight, playful smile. “What would you say to me?” 

Goro hesitates for a long, breathless moment, and Akira watches him as patiently as he always has. Waiting for Goro to step a little closer each time, as they circle around each other as rivals-friends-lovers-tricksters. Two sides of the same coin, bound together by fate and their own free will.

“Stay.” His voice is rough with a desperation he struggles to hold back. “I would tell you to stay.” 

“For you,” Akira loops his arms around Goro’s neck, drawing him closer, wearing Joker’s smirk and a tender shine in his gray eyes. “I’d do anything.”

Goro never thought he’d live past eighteen. 

It’s not that he gave a lot of thought to the particulars of how he would die—at the hands of one of Shido’s hitmen, most likely, but it didn’t matter as long as he got his revenge before he went. That hate—for Shido and everything he represented—kept Goro moving forward where anyone else would falter. 

After he was returned to life, in that strange utopia, he continued existing out of sheer spite, buoyed by the knowledge that it would be over in a matter of weeks. 

When he tumbled out of Maruki’s beautiful dream still alive, his first thought was to find Akira. But when he got to LeBlanc, peering through the windows like the outsider he would always be, he saw Akira surrounded by love—his friends, his adopted family, and that goddamn cat. 

What could he possibly have to offer someone who already had everything? Greedy as he was, as he’d always been, he didn’t just want Akira’s friendship. He wanted  _ everything. _

He was certain Akira would never love him and unwilling to settle for anything less.

Now, he watches as the pale dawn light fills the room, Akira a warm weight nestled against his chest. 

He feels something strange uncurl within him, the first tendril of a new growth, responding to the presence of sunlight. In a world where nothing is preordained, where tragedy is as common as joy, where all people have free will and unrestrained desires, Akira chose him. 

From now on, Goro vows that he will make his choice as well. Whatever their unpredictable reality brings, he will choose Akira, every time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you x3000 to everyone who left comments and kudos. 
> 
> come find me on twitter @antithesiscrow

**Author's Note:**

> make sure you check out the fan art!   
> works by [Blazhy](https://blazhydoodles.tumblr.com/post/625999747677880320/you-are-wanted-you-are-loved-i-would-build-a) and [reveriesky (Sora)](https://twitter.com/reveriesky/status/1292537281476059136)


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